Skyrim: A Troublesome Dovahkiin
by BorderFan1234
Summary: Having summoned the dragonborn, Arngeir waits patiently for the hope of Skyrim to arrive. But when Arngeir finally welcomes the dragonborn to High Hrothgar, will he be satisfied with what he finds? Most likely a one-shot or a collection of short stories about the dovahkiin.
1. Chapter 1: How I met your Dovahkiin

**Author's Note: Yes, this is the character I played as in Skyrim. Read and review, I hope you like it!**

"You are the dragonborn," stated Arngeir again. He reread the letter of introduction from Whiterun to be sure.

The tall argonian blinked and continued staring blankly at the old monk.

Arngeir sighed and rubbed his eyes, he refused to believe this half-wit lizard was the dragonborn. Surely, the gods were testing them. Or perhaps it was all a jest, Arngeir turned and inspected Borri and the other monks' faces for signs of deception, but they appeared equally baffled by the strange turn of events.

Arngeir turned back around and stared intently at the lizard, trying to squeeze out some kind of explanation. The hornless argonian certainly looked the part of a warrior; he was wearing a suit of steel plate armor without the helmet, and was carrying a greatsword marked with the scars of many battles.

The argonian pointed at his open mouth and then rubbed his belly gently. Argneir pretended he didn't understand the request. It didn't seem right to him that the dragonborn who would save skyrim wasn't a nord, but an argonian.

"Show us, dragonborn. Let us taste of your voice."

"_Yol!_"

A weak fireball rolled past the monks, singeing their beards. "Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar," said Argneir unenthusiastically.

The argonian gestured to his mouth again and followed the motion with an elaborate pantomime of eating.

Argneir tugged at his beard as he led the dragonborn to the pantry. He waited patiently as the argonian emptied the ice chest of fish and devoured half a barrel of potatoes.

"We have much to teach you, dragonborn," said Argneir, interrupting the buffet. "Let us return to the main hall."

The dragonborn reluctantly followed Argneir out of the pantry and back to the main hall.

As they walked, Argneir explained to the argonian the nature of shouts, but he wasn't confident any of it got through, all he recieved in return for his efforts was a blank stare and an idiotic smile.

Back in the main hall, Argneir and the other monks struggled to teach their new pupil more words of power. The argonian easily absorbed the words from them, proof that he was indeed the dragonborn, but he refused to say anything other than yol.

After three hours of attempting to communicate with the dragonborn, the greybeards finally surrendered. Argneir shook his head sadly and said, "There is nothing more we can teach you, dragonborn."

The dragonborn nodded happily and walked out of High Hrothgar.

Argneir watched from the door as the dragonborn descended the seven thousand steps. "Talos save us, for we are surely doomed."


	2. Chapter 2: Yolo

"Do you get to the cloud district very often? Oh, what am I saying, of course you don't."

Dovahkiin growled as the man who insulted him walked past. The sunny street of Whiterun was empty except for the two of them.

"_Yol!_" A fireball flew over the man's head, setting his hair on fire. The man ran away screaming as Dovahkiin laughed.

Seeing the fireball shoot into the air, a nearby guard ran over from his post to chastise the argonian.

"I need to ask you to stop. That... shouting... is making people nervous," said the guard, looking quite nervous himself.

Dovahkiin hissed at the guard and ran away.

The guard sighed and returned to his post. He pretended he didn't see another puff of fire shoot up into the sky from the direction the dragonborn had gone.


	3. Chapter 3: Sweet Rolled

"I am _sworn_ to carry your burdens," said Lydia with a sigh, her sarcastic voice filling the small bakery.

Dovahkiin nodded happily and dropped two more sweet rolls into the large basket she was holding.

Lydia looked down at the heavy basket. It was filled with nothing but sweet rolls. "My lord," she said, forcing the two difficult words out of her resisting throat. She gently chastised the Dovahkiin, "If we are to survive in the wild, we will need more than just sweet rolls." She forced herself to give a sickeningly sweet smile.

Dovahkiin turned his head away from the shopkeeper and gave her an inquisitive look. He stared wide eyed at her, with his cheeks still full of food and a half-eaten sweet roll clasped tightly in each claw.

"Nonsense," declared the cheerful shopkeeper. The portly man heaved a freshly baked batch of sweet rolls onto the counter. "A good sweet roll is all you need."

A flowery aroma wafted up and over from the sweet rolls, and the Dovahkiin snorted in the scent. The lizard finished the two sweet rolls in his hands and tossed several more into the overflowing basket. Finally, he grabbed three more to carry out; one in each hand plus one in his mouth.

The satisfied Dovahkiin waddled slowly out of the shop, leaving Lydia to struggle up to the counter and pay.

Lydia lifted the basket up to the counter and dropped it with a thud. The wooden countertop groaned under the excessive weight.

"That'll be three hundred septims," said the shopkeeper without emotion.

Lydia took the coin purse off her belt and slapped it on the counter.

Ignoring the woman's glare, the shopkeeper nonchalantly counted out her change.

Lydia snatched back her near-empty purse and with a grunt, lifted the basket off the counter. Still glaring at the shopkeeper, she murmured darkly, "This is my vow, baker. Once I am free, I am going to come back, and burn this store to the ground." She shuffled her way out the door.

"Come back again soon," taunted the baker, as he watched them leave from the door of his shop.


End file.
